


Ghosts

by silvertrails



Series: Tirion Arc [6]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 13:24:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17407730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvertrails/pseuds/silvertrails
Summary: Fingolfin wishes Fëanor stopped seeing ghosts everywhere.





	Ghosts

**Ghosts  
** By CC  
September, 2006 

This is an amateur effort and does not intend to infringe on the rights of J.R.R. Tolkien. No profit is made and no harm is intended.  
This story is set in Tirion, YT 1281, a year after Finarfin married Eärwen. This is the first of a small arc of five stories. 

50 passages prompt 30: This in brief is how I see things at the moment, if you wish to have a piece of my mind as plain as possible. 

Thank you so much to Alex for the beta! ^_^

* * *

Nolofinwë loved his half-brother, he really did. He had loved Fëanaro since the day when his older brother had come into the nursery to see why he was crying. Even if he could not recall the nightmare, Nolofinwë remembered the hand gently wiping his tears away and the harsh voice telling him to settle down. Nolofinwë had stopped crying, and the stormy gray eyes looking at him had softened. 

“Good boy. Now go back to sleep. I will stay here until Findis comes back.” 

Nolofinwë had fallen asleep, knowing that his big brother would protect him. He had started to follow Fëanaro after that, ignoring the scowls and the harsh dismissals. Even when his brother had demanded to be left alone, Nolofinwë had been able to see the truth behind the stern façade. Fëanaro loved him. 

It was that love that Nolofinwë was trying to find now, but all he could see was pride and resentment, and it was starting to worry him. Fëanaro’s skills had increased as time passed, but so had the many ghosts that haunted him. He would take offense whenever someone contradicted him, and his mania about the use of þ had gotten worse. It was irritating, and worrisome. Sometimes Nolofinwë wanted to shake his brother and demand he stopped it. 

Like now... 

They were at his brother’s forge, and Fëanaro was sitting at his worktable, completely ignoring him. Nolofinwë looked at him in silence, wondering if Fëanaro would have been different had Míriel stayed with him. Nolofinwë had never understood why she had left. He knew the story, but even if Fëanaro’s light was bright and even blinding at times, was Míriel not the source of that light? 

Or maybe she was just as stubborn as he is, Nolofinwë thought, chastising himself for the implied disrespect the next moment. He looked at his brother, working furiously as if nothing else mattered to him, and sighed deeply. This brought a reaction, though Fëanaro did not look at him. 

“Why are you still here?” 

“Because you have yet to answer my question,” Nolofinwë said. 

Fëanaro shrugged and continued his work. Again Nolofinwë felt the urge to shake his brother until he admitted that there was no reason for him to plan a trip so fast after having just come from one. 

“So you are not coming to the festival in Alqualondë even if King Olwë is holding it to celebrate Arafinwë’s and Earwën’s anniversary?” He tried again. 

“That is what I said the first time you asked, Nolo,” Fëanaro said, his eyes fixed on the necklace he was working on. It was made of silver metal, and the azure beads that Fëanaro was working in were beautiful. Nelyo had found the jewels on one of their trips, and polished them until they gave a soft glow. Nolofinwë had to admire his brother’s skill, and the way he worked the jewels into the metal. It was... distracting him from the issue at hand. 

“Do you care to explain me why?” Nolofinwë insisted. “Arafinwë said that you will leave on a trip, but you have just come from one. Why are you leaving the city again so fast? And why are you taking Tyelkormo? Isn’t he too young to go mining?” 

“Have I ever told you how to raise Findekano?” 

“You could have,” Nolo blurted out before he could stop himself. “After all, he comes here every day. I don’t mind but...” 

Fëanaro smiled wryly. “You do mind, but you are not about to admit it. Maybe if you and Anaire decided to beget another son, Findekano would not come here so often. I guess everybody needs...” 

“To have siblings?” Nolofinwë offered. 

Fëanaro glared at him and turned back to his work. “I was at Arafinwë’s wedding. That should be enough. I care not to socialize with those merry singers. Arafinwë should have married someone of our own people. Like I did, like you did. All those Teleri do is sing all day and sail in those ridiculous swan ships.” 

“So now you hate swans.” 

“Have you nothing better to do than bother me?” Fëanaro snapped. “I am busy, as you can see. I have no time for idle chat.” 

“Fine.” 

He should leave, Nolofinwë thought. He should leave Fëanaro in his own little world where he was king and nobody but Nerdanel questioned his words. He should stop trying to find the brother that had taught him so many things, even if grudgingly. He should, but he could not... 

“Why are you not leaving?” 

“Because you are making no sense, and I do want to understand you! What does it matter that Eärwen is not of our people? We have known her since she was an elfling. We have been at Alqualondë many times, and you have enjoyed the festivals. This marriage has joined our peoples...”

Fëanaro set the necklace on the table and stood. “There was no such joining. I am Finwë’s heir, not Arafinwë. Now I understand the importance of this marriage for him. Surely King Olwë will make him his heir.” 

Nolofinwë stared at his brother, disbelievingly. “So that’s it? Do you think our brother would marry Eärwen just because her father is a King? Valar, Fëanaro, how can you think that he would do something like that?” 

“It never occurred to me until you said it.” 

“I never said such a thing!” 

Fëanaro shrugged and sat at his table again. “Whatever.” 

“You are really obsessed, and so mistaken...” 

Fëanaro looked at him. “Is there a point to this conversation, Nolo? I want to finish this necklace so I can plan my new trip.” 

Nolofinwë sighed. “Yes, there is a point. This in brief is how I see things, if you wish to hear me. You are one of the greatest smiths in Tirion, second only to Mahtan, and you are the chief of the linguistic guild...” 

“Not that it has helped with my family’s misuse of the language, has it?” 

“Can I finish what I am trying to say, please?” Nolofinwë snapped at last. 

“If there is no choice...” 

“Valar... you can be impossible sometimes!” Nolofinwë stopped, and took a deep breath. Fëanaro was obviously trying to make him lose his temper. It was not going to happen. 

“You have wonderful gifts, Fëanaro, but your pride is growing and you admit no counsel but your own. I’m not certain if you would even listen to Papa now. You see ghosts everywhere. You don’t trust us, your siblings. We are kin, Fëanaro, and it matters not if our mothers are not the same. We are not to blame for what happened to your mother.” 

“That is enough!” Fëanaro stood and advanced on him, anger flashing in his eyes, making Nolofinwë wonder if his brother had lost it at last. Still he could not stop himself from speaking again, the frustration of years of dealing with his brother’s moods coming to the front. 

“Would you have wanted us to never been born, Fëanaro? Answer me! I am no longer an elfling. You can speak your mind freely. I will not fall apart!” 

Fëanaro did not answer. 

“All right. I understand. I will leave you alone, as you have always wished. I will not stop Findekano from coming, and I hope you will allow him to visit your sons. They are kin, and they are meant to grow together.” 

“Nolo...” 

“What?” 

“I would never wish ill to any of you.” 

“That is not enough, Fëanaro. Not anymore.” 

Nolofinwë looked at his brother for a long moment, hoping, wishing there would be a way to fix things. Fëanaro looked troubled, but there was something new in his eyes, something Nolofinwë could not bear to see. There was doubt. After all these years, his brother doubted him. It hurt much more than Nolofinwë was willing to admit. He forced himself to turn around and start walking. He loved his brother and he would find a way to fix this. He was not going to allow Fëanaro’s ghosts to take over.


End file.
